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Friday, February 7, 2014

Walker Easton has chosen a life of solitude and it’s
always suited him well. When a young lover is viciously taken from him, he
begins to reevaluate his connection with Emilio. Could he have saved the young
man, had he resisted the deep seated desire to belong to someone? Lost and
uncertain for the first time in his life, his bravado is slipping away. When
he’s given his next filthy assignment, he remembers Emilio’s final words to
him… “Who will grieve for you when you are gone, Walker?” His next choices set
him on a dangerous path where there is no turning back and when an old friend
gets in the way, he has an impossible decision to make.

Callum Tryst is a dangerous man in his own right.
Young and cocky and undeniably one of the finest assassins alive, he goes after
a target not knowing that there is one painted on his own back. When he crosses
paths with a career sniper, he finally meets his match… or does he? Callum
learns the hard way that perhaps the best weapon against his enemy is another
enemy. He finds himself asking the question, “If I’ve never ever cared about anyone,
did I ever really matter?”

Join the pair as they meet out justice as only they
know how, in a desperate fight to the finish… and the discovery that the fight
is not as they always assumed it to be. Assumptions get you killed… and dead
men cannot love.

Wilkins shot out of hiding from his spot against the
wall and pulled out a handgun, aiming it up at the guard and firing, missing
the target as Walker came to the conclusion that backing him up was mandatory.
Walker swore a slew of curses on Wilkin’s mother as he jumped up from his cozy
snow trench and leaped to his friend’s defense, leaving his cover, and tearing
across the clearing toward the commotion. The guard on the wall didn’t see
Walker coming to Wilkin’s aid. He was already in pursuit of Wilkins, who’d
rounded the far corner out of sight. Walker heard two more volleys and he knew
that Wilkins was taking care of the other perimeter guards as he rushed in,
lifting his P228 (M11) pistol and firing a hail of rounds, taking out the guard
in pursuit of Wilkins along the wall on his side. The shrill sound of the whistle
stopped immediately as blood sprayed out of the guy’s mouth along with the
silver whistle as the guard fell forward and toppled off the top of the wall,
landing hard in the snow, his sightless eyes staring upward as Walker hit the
wall beside the corpse and flattened himself to it.

The next several moments happened so quickly, Walker
had a hard time recalling it until months afterward. Walker heard a click,
realized what it was, and then before he could drop, the explosion went off
about fifteen feet from him. The vehicle disintegrated, his ears stopped
hearing, and he slammed his lids shut as his face and torso were hit with a
blast of heat straight out of hell as metal shards peppered his body. The
memory of him strapping on protective body armor briefly washed over him with
relief, as he fell forward, and he tried to catch himself with arms that
wouldn’t work. He collapsed into the cold of the snow. He lay there, doing a
physical assessment to assure himself that all his pieces were intact, and just
as he reached the conclusion that they were, he felt himself being lifted under
both armpits from behind.

“I gotcha, buddy,” Wilkins drawled. The fuckin’ redneck.

Walker tried to stand on his own power as Wilkins’s
strong arms pulled him into an upright position, but his legs felt like Jell-O
and went right out from under him.

“Can you stand, Easton? What the hell are you doing
out here?” Wilkins cursed and Walker knew he’d be feeling much the same way had
their roles been reversed. “I took care of most of them but we gotta get the
fuck outa here before the rest of them come.” Walker heard the desperation in
Wilkins’s voice and did his best to move under his own power, while Wilkins
screamed into a radio.

Walker couldn’t really see, though his eyes were
open. Something wet poured down his face, more than likely his own blood, the
head injury making a mess out of not only his mental acuity, but his field of
vision as well. Somehow, some way, they made it back into the trees and by then
the whoop whoop of a Cobra attack
helicopter broke into the sound of shouts and the zinging of bullets fired from
the guards who were closing in. A second later the huge airborne armored weapon
came into sight, kicking up a cloud of snowflakes in the clearing between the
compound walls and the tree line where they were standing. Pieces of the
compound walls began disintegrating around them as the Cobra fired on the
enemy, clearing a path for them. It sounded as if Armageddon had begun.
Walker’s arm was draped over Wilkins’s shoulder and as soon as the helicopter
hit the ground, the men inside started the extraction, returning fire on the
enemy following. Wilkins and Walker made their way to the great gray beast and
more hands were there to lift them inside of the warm interior. The last thing
Walker remembered was Wilkins flopping onto the deck beside him as he lost
consciousness.